


drabble-ish: post-hell, dean and scars

by anthrophobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cutting, Drabble, Gen, Post-Hell, Scars, self injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthrophobe/pseuds/anthrophobe





	drabble-ish: post-hell, dean and scars

A lot of things are different since Dean got back from Hell. There are so many ways that he’s changed, and so many reasons to worry about Sammy, and so many Angels and Demons to keep track of. It’s silly and self-indulgent to get upset about a few scars.  
  
But it still startles Dean every time he looks at his own skin. Hell, even before he glances down at himself to pull on his clothes, before he gets to a mirror, he can still tell. His scars should be there, hypersensitive in some places, numb in others, pulling at his skin as he moves. He should feel them.  
  
Of course the ones he got in the Pit would be gone. Of course. But the rest? Why the rest?  
  
Most of them weren’t even that bad. It was the one stroke of good luck they ever had, he and Sam and Dad; they healed fast, never scared easily. But still, the life they lead, he’d accumulated a fair few.  
  
There were the ones from the car crash that should have killed him. Not many, most of those injuries were internal. But there were a few scars, ever so faint, from the broken glass of the windshield.  
  
And there were the four pale, atrophic lines down his forehead from the Daevas’ claws. They were subtle, shockingly so for how deep the wounds had been, but their absence was no less noticeable.  
  
And the worst, and the weirdest to _miss_ the way he did, were on his leg. They were the first he noticed every morning, the ones he’d always been able to feel most keenly. There weren’t many, just three short, straight lines, high up on his inner thigh. The one spot were no one, not even Dad, was likely to see. His only self-inflicted wounds.  
  
Not that he hadn’t felt like doing it before. But that was the only time he felt weak enough to just go for it.  
  
It was right after Sam’s big fight with Dad, the night he left them. For all Dean’s experience with a knife, he’d never turned a razor blade on himself. He wasn’t used to the blade, or the give of his own skin, and yeah, he was also a little drunk. He cut deeper than he really meant to. And he didn’t stitch them up like he knew he should. Just slapped some gauze over and let them bleed for a few weeks before they finally closed up properly. When they finally healed, the scars they left were thick and ropey things, for as small as they were.  
  
Those are the ones he misses most.


End file.
